Professor Eames
by MrsShadow
Summary: Written especially for a Inception kink prompt. Eames gives Ariadne lessons on how to be a better lover.
1. The Art of Kissing

Professor Eames.

Summary: Written to fill a prompt at - you guess it right! Inception_kink meme.

Prompt: Ariadne asks Eames to teach her how to be a better lover. Bonus points if there are multiple lessons (i.e., lesson 1: how to give good head, lesson 2. how to be on top, etc.)

Note: Eames' first name is courtesy of my husband, and Ariadne's surname is a result of two popular Greek surname components. Please don't kill me anons, I needed names for them!

Disclaimer: I don't own inception of its characters!

* * *

(A Year After The Inception Job)

"Come again Darling, I don't think I heard that right." Ian Eames' eyes darted around the sparsely populated kitchen of Dom Cobb. Next to him stood Ariadne Papaellis, tiny hands covering James' sensitive little ears.

"Eames, you heard me, I want lessons on how to be better in bed." She murmured, sidestepping closer and avoiding a steaming plate of grilled meats being brought into the house.

"I'm sure you're fine -"

"Daniel broke up with me because and I quote 'its like screwing a block of ice'. I'd rather not get my lack of experience thrown in my face again."

"The lad was a complete tosser anyway. If memory serves also you first, eh, experience. Those aren't always known to be nights or months to remember, darling." The forger was artfully dodging Ariadne's request but it was becoming harder to do the more she defended the request and stuck to her guns.

"Ian…Please, I just…Mal's words are haunting me, I don't know what it is to be a lover, half of a whole and I desperately want to. It's like her taunt set off a ticking time bomb in my head." Her chocolate brown eyes were wide and warm, pleading just as her words did. Eames made a final stand.

"Why didn't you go to Arthur about this-"

"A kiss in a dream doesn't mean he'd be willing to jump into bed with me. He's married to his job, content with the persona of point man. It would take me dynamite and a ice pick to get through that exterior" the architect sniped, eyes hardening ever so slightly and causing Eames to quirk a brow.

"All right. But we're doing this on my terms, little architect. No dating while this is going on."

"Not a problem" She blew a raspberry on little James' cheek and brought a smile to the other team members - who were quickly closing in- faces.

"You'll be coming back to my hotel with me tonight for the first lesson," He spoke as he turned, a bark of laughter sounding when he saw Arthur trying to teach Phillippa the finer art of keeping clean whilst playing. "Still in school, little architect."

Ariadne just shook her head and gave Eames a look before walking off with James, the little boy asking the woman to teach him to draw a house like his Daddy's.

"Ian." A dark voice drifted to the con man, and he looked over, surprised to see Grill Master Cobb not four feet away from him.

"Dom, good party, I'm honestly glad you got to come back to your children. Even if you did risk all our lives to do it."

"A necessary risk, old friend. Do me a favor?"

"Depends on the favor; the last could have landed me in limbo."

"Don't hurt Ariadne - I don't want to have to shoot you."

Before Eames could reply, Dom walked off to the play room where Ariadne had taken James. Sighing, Eames tipped back his beer bottle and took a healthy swig. It seemed teaching innocent Ariadne to be a worldly woman was going to be more of a hassle than he'd anticipated with Cobb breathing down his neck.

The barbecue lasted well into the evening, and there wasn't a moment when Ariadne wasn't seen with Cobb's children. They took to her like fish in water, calling her Auntie Adne, demanding she spend all her free moments entertaining them. Eames had mostly made small talk with the extractors, stealing glances and watching the woman he would soon become very intimate with.

Her hair had grown since the Fischer job, curling softly and framing her face. She was still so thin a good wind would carry her away, but he noticed other differences in her. There was something softer to her - perhaps it was just relaxation that made her smiles come brighter and easier than they had while on the Fischer job. Ariadne wasn't in jeans with her usual layered tops and scarf either tonight, instead having opted for a sunny yellow dress - more surprising than anything was the modest vintage cut of the dress. It landed at her knees and only hinted at cleavage - refreshing, if Eames was being honest.

Hours later, the architect and forger stood in his hotel suite, sharing a glass of champagne in silence. Ariadne fidgeted and played with her dress, cheeks turning pink at random intervals until finally Eames spoke.

"If you aren't comfortable with this -"

"No!" She yelped, before turning a delicious shade of red and repeating; "No its not that…I'm just nervous."

"Understandable, let me help that?"

The brunette nodded, eyes wide and wary, Eames supposed she thought the lessons would send them careening into sex on the first night, but that had never been his style. Turning so he leaning back against the couch's arm, the broad man, took Ariadne's half drained flute from her, setting it on the table and then turning her so she leant back into the cradle his body created. For a moment she was stiff as a board, hands twisted together in her lap.

"Relax Ariadne, I'm not going to hurt you." His words were low, breath whispering past her ear and sparking a shiver to travel down her spine.

Slowly, Ian smoothed his large, gun calloused hands down Ariadne's bare arms. The touch was soft and cautious - calming the young woman until she relaxed against her one time co-workers chest. Even after she had stopped impersonating a piece of cardboard, Eames let his hands travel over her arms, widening their range to smooth over her shoulders, twining his fingers with hers.

It made the thief smile when Ariadne turned her head towards him, brown eyes shut, lips parted and letting breathy sounds of contentment slip past. This lesson of trust was going very smoothly, he hadn't needed to even speak an intent past asking to help her relax. That trust would be very important once they got on to bigger things.

Removing his hands from their path of relaxation, he grasped the architects waist, a small flicker of surprise and alarm passing his thoughts when he felt how tiny she was. His hold on her made the architects eyes pop open, head tipping back to get a look at his face. A roguish grin pulled her captors lips as he leaned slowly towards her.

The slow decent made her pulse speed up, and she found herself squirming in his hold, straining to meet him in a first kiss. The squirming was both enticing and mildly irritating to the man, and he tightened his hold on her with narrowed eyes, murmuring as he got closer.

"My pace, my rules Ariadne, you agreed to it. Now be a good girl, let me kiss you."

Silently the student nodded, waiting, breath catching in her chest when his larger lips brushed against hers in a half kiss. Eames passed his lips against Ariadne's lightly glossed ones, ghost kisses that made her whimper and strain against his hold. The whimpers struck a cord in Eames, made parts of his anatomy wake up slightly, stirring in mild interest. After a fifth ghost kiss, the man took pity on the small woman trapped in his hold. His lips sealed over hers in a brief, chaste kiss.

Though brief, it had the lithe woman craving more, her small soft hands moving to cup his cheeks, her body twisting within his tight hold until they were chest to chest and Ariadne hovered over him.

"Is this all right?" She questioned, worry lighting her lidded eyes for a moment.

Eames answered by raising a hand to tangle in her hair, pulling her head to his, lips sealing once more. Neither opened their mouths for several long kisses. Some were soft, gentle, full of affection, others were bruising, demanding and hard. Ariadne was breathless and surprised, kisses before this were all so…well they weren't this. These made her want to tug at his shirt, lay in his arms and make a fool of herself. Even as they kissed again, her hands sliding over Ian's cheek bones, jaw and neck to rest at his shoulders, she wanted more and tried to communicate it to her partner.

Slowly they maneuvered amidst kisses until Ariadne was straddling the thief, the skirt of her dress, trapped between them bunched up to mid-thigh. Eames' free hand fell to caress the skin revealed, marveling at the little woman's gasp when his rough skin met hers. It was rather exciting to have a sensitive partner for once, and he voiced his appreciation by swiping his tongue from between his lips into Ariadne's slightly opened mouth. The action was rewarded with another sound of surprise, and her hands slipping to grip the hair at the back of his head.

Timidly Ariadne brought her tongue to meet his, her actions speaking of insecurity and not having done this many times. Eames let Ariadne trace a path over his tongue with hers, groaning when she began to map out his mouth with short, uncertain sweeps of her tongue. For a moment each let the taste of the other drown their senses; relishing the unique flavor of their partner before parting.

Eames watched Ariadne take deep breaths, lips parted- cherry colored, all signs of the gloss having vanished; her face colored red with glazed eyes. She was an adorable picture to take in, her hair mussed from its gentle ringlet waves by his hands, her dress getting more and more wrinkled by the moment.

"That was a good first go, darling, but we've got to work on your confidence." He breathed, the hand on her thigh squeezing reassuringly.

"That's - I mean - I…Ian." The girl stuttered, her eyes moving away from his and staring off into a corner of the room behind him. Not happy with her sudden uncertainty Eames sat forward, sending the lithe girl toppling backward onto the cushions. Sprawled on her back, dress around her thighs, Ariadne was an inviting picture, though her eyes flashed with a fire that usually was aimed at Cobb.

Looming over her, Ian untangled his hand from her hair, placing it instead under her arm, his other trailing teasingly over her thigh before resting itself on the cushion by her waist. The transition was surprisingly smooth as he hovered over her, weight rested on his arms and knees, the color of a storm reflected in water. Ariadne wanted to kiss him again, leaning up on the impulse and sealing her lips to his. For a moment it was awkward, she shifted until her weight was supported on an elbow her free hand settling on the back of Eames' neck and applying a slight pressure.

'That's more like it' He mentally cheered, following her lead, meeting and teasing her tongue when it slipped past his lips. Taking over again, the thief pressed forward, moving to rest on his forearms, as the architect lay back, using him as an anchor so she wouldn't have to part from his lips. It seemed the action sparked something in the little woman underneath him, because kisses that were well in the range of tame if a bit heady took on a frantic and frenzied edge. Ian resisted it until one of her legs curled to rest against his back, her hips brushing carefully up against his.

A hand sneaked underneath her then, cupping her arse and lifting slightly as he ground against her cloth covered core. Her soft breathy keen of pleasure tore at his restraint. This was supposed to be a lesson about trust and kissing, not dry humping. Though the truth whispered across Eames' mind, his lips and teeth found her neck, worrying her pulse point until her hands dug into his back. Switching sides he resumed his feast, and felt the lithe woman underneath him buck and squirm, incoherent noises bubbling from her throat. He had to stop before this went places it wasn't supposed to.

Detaching himself from Ariadne, and moving off her slowly he watched her come down from a near orgasmic high. She was beautiful when undone, bright eyes, wild hair. The idiot who told her she was frigid lost an amazing find, but it was to Eames' benefit. Now he would have her for months, teaching her the way into and around a man's bed.

"I think, darling, that is a good enough lesson for tonight." His voice came out lower than before, husky and it got to Ariadne in ways she wasn't going to let the thief know about.

"Why- I thought…Lessons" she babbled, eyes turning bewildered, and Ian jumped to correct the small blunder.

"We aren't going to do this all in one night, love. You're mine until you're fully confident you can seduce a man without feeling awkward. There's a lot to this, if you don't want to…"

"No. I trust you Eames." the architect murmured, sitting up, her hands smoothing out her hair and dress. Pressing a lingering kiss to the forger's stubble covered cheek, and shuffled off. Opening the suite door Ariadne paused and turned flashing a brilliant smile back at her partner.

"Catch you later, hun."

"Sweet dream, darling."


	2. Masturbation and Surprises

Professor Eames. 2/?

"Masturbation and Surprises"

Note: Ok so I started writing this and a brain bunny told me to throw in the twist. I swear the brain bunny's name was Eames. So blame Eames for this.

* * *

"Eames," Ariadne sighed, laying back on her bed, staring into space as she replayed the events of yesterday evening in her head. She had never been kissed like that before and certainly hadn't kissed any man like that before.

'Asking him was a good idea. It'll just be lessons and then I'll be able to actually find a lover who will stay…' she mentally reasoned, sitting up and grabbing a sketch pad, beginning to start on a new building layout.

- Several Hours Later.

"Hello, darling." The conman crooned into the receiver of his hotel phone. Ariadne fought the urge to roll her eyes as she answered.

"Eames, what's up"

"Are you free tonight Miss Papaellis?" Ariadne laughed at his sudden formality.

"I have some classes tonight, but you're more than welcome to tag along and then I'll be all yours for the rest of the evening."

"All mine for the rest of the evening? That's an invitation I can't bring myself to turn down. Shall I meet you at the class."

"Sure" Ariadne quickly told Ian the location of her class and ran into the bathroom. Showering was a quick and mildly painful affair - one too many razor cuts from shaving, but the rest of her preparatory process was quick. She combed her hair straight; pulling it into a pony tail; dressed in gray yoga pants, a white tank and put on some flats before grabbing her bag and all but running to the studio.

The architect thankfully made it there before Eames did and informed her teacher there would be a male observer for the night. Instructor Gillespie thanked her for the heads up and then informed the rest of the class. By the time Eames made it in the door, the ladies who didn't feel comfortable being watched had left.

The thief waltzed into the classroom dressed in his usual - slightly rumpled cotton slacks, an equally rumpled but tucked in printed dress shirt and a sports jacket. Ariadne's heart was pounding in her chest as he took a seat and the Instructor began the nights class. Gradually the architect focused more and more on the class, nearly forgetting about Eames until the music started.

The slow, heavy tones of Razor Sharp filtered through the class room and the women began their practical applications of the described dance moves. Ariadne leaned against her mirror, sliding down a bit and pushing herself back up, hands sliding over her thighs and stomach, eyes roving the room before settling on Eames.

To say Ian was shocked little Ariadne took exotic dance lessons was a slight understatement. He watched the dances begin and felt his mouth go dry. Teetering on her platform heels, the lithe brunette transformed from a naïve untried girl into a sultry and sexy woman. Her hips thrust forward with her back leaning on the glass, undulating slowly with the music, her hands trailing paths his eyes followed heatedly. Blue eyes met brown and Eames saw the woman's breath catch, uncertainty flicker in brown depths. In an effort to put her at ease, the forger leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to relax and look casual.

For the next fifty minutes Eames watched as Ariadne danced with an aim to seduce. It was maddening to watch those small hands ghost over her breasts, watch her back arch and her hips swing. He loved the look she unwittingly adopted - her lips parted ever so slightly with her eyes nearly closed, but open enough to tell where she was looking because her hair pulled away from her face - it was a heated look without even trying. The confidence she exuded while dancing was astonishing. He wondered what happened to the shy woman he'd held in his lap the previous night, before remembering a demanding kiss and tentative roll of her hips. Eames smirked when he tossed aside his mental plans for tonight's lesson, penciling in one that would no doubt make the sweet little lady blush but, ultimately help her.

When the class ended, Eames sauntered over and let his fingers brush over Ariadne's shoulders, feeling the heat over her skin as she slipped the monster heels off and slid each foot into a sensible flat ballerina style shoe. The pair left the dance studio wordlessly, though truth be told Eames was replaying the show in his mind's eye already. A half block away and the architect spoke up, a quaver in her voice betraying her nervousness.

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you by telling you to come to the class, Eames."

"Not at all, love. I quite enjoyed the show."

"Oh…"

"So I do recall something being said about you being at my mercy for the rest of the evening."

Ariadne laughed, soft and gentle eyes darting to Ian's face before answering.

"We had a deal, you go to my class and I'd be yours for the night."

"Fabulous. Back to the hotel then, we've got a lesson to tend to and room service to order."

"Is that in priority order?"

"Not really - the food needs to be eaten before the lesson. Else we'll starve for the night."

"Must be some lesson."

"Oh, love, you have no idea."

Back in the suite, Eames and Ariadne sit full from the ordered room service. The little architect is curled against Eames, eyes glued to the television, lips reciting Scarlett O'Hara's lines. It had taken a little digging to find out what the brunette's favorite movie was, but the forger was pleased to have done so. Tonight Ariadne was comfortable, relaxed and most of all - not thinking about the lesson. It would make it a bit easier to keep the plan straight if she wasn't prodding him for information.

When the credits rolled, the forger looked at Ariadne and smiled when he saw her fast asleep, leaning on his shoulder. Somewhere during intermission she'd wormed her way under his arm and stayed there. Mentally flipping through his options, Ian settled for scooping the slight girl up in his arms, striding the few yards to his bedroom, settling Ariadne down amidst the fluffy comforter and pillows. Leaving her to sleep for a bit, Eames called room service and nipped off to the bathroom to freshen up. In about fifteen minutes, the architect was roused by a knock on the door.

Sitting up she rubbed at her eyes, hearing her forger answer and tip the delivery person. When Eames and a simple cart with some domed trays rounded the corner, Ariadne had her fingers caught in her hair, trying to settle the mess it had become. Ian bit back a surge of laughter at the picture she made, fluffy comforter wrapped around her calves, hair wild with her slender fingers tugging against a not.

The girl being observed was quickly becoming cherry red, the tugs to her hair more frequent. The older man simply sauntered forward and sat on the bed beside Ariadne, his larger hand reaching out and helping to free her fingers from the dreaded hair trap. A nervous, self-depreciating laugh trickles from Ariadne and Eames mentally sighs.

'There's the insecure Ari, back with a vengeance'

"So…I'm guessing your lesson isn't going to be about falling asleep and waking up beautiful" The brunette murmurs, face turned away as red stains her cheeks.

"Right you are love, you've already go that one down."

"Don't be a prick." Ariadne snaps, fire in the depths of her brown orbs as she whips around to face he forger.

"I'm not." He retorted simply, before standing. In a few long strides he has the lights off, service tray utterly forgotten in his now single minded need to start his lesson. Ignoring his pupils questioning squeak of surprise Eames stations himself in a chair across the room.

"Tonight's lesson is about pleasing yourself."

"What?"

"If you don't know what makes your toes curl or your eyes cross, how do you expect someone else to."

"I still don't see exactly where this is going."

"Do you touch yourself Ariadne" Eames ground out, becoming slightly frustrated with the girl's obtuse behavior.

"W-what? No!"

"You can't be serious."

"It's a disgusting habit."

"Where your parent's catholic?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Ariadne shrieked, moving across the bed certain the offending, perverted male was somewhere on it.

"Everything. Get undressed, I'm going to teach you how to masturbate."

"Eames this is ridiculous."

"Do you want to have a lover who stays around longer than a month or two past the first shag?" The remark was biting but it was enough to make the architect think.

"You wanted my help little girl, take it or leave it." Eames continued, frustrated by the fact that not only did Ariadne not know her way around her own body, she was being stubborn, and it was all her damned pious parents fault - or so he assumed.

"All right…" The soft words barely made it to his ears before the gray yoga pants landed at his feet. Vaguely one and than another sock could be seen being flung through the air, a pair of very small panties also took flight, landing on his right and causing the man to grin.

"there"

"I said, undressed, not bare from the waist down Miss Papaellis." The quip was rewarded by a frustrated groan, Ariadne ripping her tank top over her head and flinging it in the general direction of Eames' voice. Last was her bra and she flung that just as hard when she heard a shift in the darkest corner directly to the left.

Sitting atop the bed, legs curled under her, Ariadne felt vulnerable and silly. The room was absolutely silent, drenched in darkness with one of its occupants presumably fully clothed the other about to be taught how to please herself.

"This feels absurd…" The lithe young woman murmured, arms curling around her modest round breasts in the darkness.

"Of course it will when you're just sitting there. Lay back darling."

Or a moment Ariadne stayed still before slowly laying herself down on the bed, nerves making her blood pump faster, breaths becomes soft puffs.

"Now, close your eyes, sweet heart think of the person you want to be touching you. Those little hands of yours are going to be that persons, ok?"

"..Kay" Ariadne squeaked, mind racing around past boyfriends before settling on the owner of the instructing voice. Seeing Eames looming over her sent a shock down her body, and guilty frantic thoughts running through her mind.

"…start with just running your hands up and down your body, get used to touching your own skin in a sensual manner."

Her hands, which she never thought of being anything but hands before this, are already moving, flowing the sound of his voice. Finger tips tickle her ribcage and her palms ghost against the swell of her breasts, simple motions that shouldn't elicit gasps and do. Touching her stomach makes her giggle and Eames is speaking again.

"Don't just concentrate on your torso, your neck, your arms, pet your thighs, feel the skin of your arms…"

His voice is slightly deeper than before, and it's enveloping her before she realizes it. The words drill into her mind and take hold of her hands - they smooth over her neck, scratch lightly down her arms. Nimble fingers sneak over her thighs, passing over her mons, her gently curved hips jumping, Eames speaks again, dark-rumbling laughter in his voice.

"Such a quick student. That's right, do what feels good, let your thighs part, explore your sweet breasts, pluck at those pebbled nipples, squeeze them - tease yourself, love - feel."

A stunned moan slipped past the architects lips, her mind formulating a fantasy to coincide with Eames' instructions. Its not her fingers that massage and pluck at the peaks of her breasts making her squirm, it is Ian's hands. She can almost feel the gun callused palms slide over her rapidly heating skin, hear him speaking in her ear. The memory of his weigh settles between her parted thighs and one of her hands begins to sneak down to the growing ache at her center.

Eames had thought this hands off lesson would be an easy one. The dark shapes and bodiless moans coming from his bed, however, are waking his libido. Slacks that are usually so roomy and comfortable are becoming rapidly tighter the more he urges Ariadne on. The movement south makes him smirk- the girl has no patience for this but, that will come later with practice. His pants are unzipped and the weight of his cock warms his hand before he really has a chance to think about it. The forger fights to keep his voice level and fails miserably.

"Find your clit, don't worry about having trouble, slide your fingers just between your lips - you'll feel a shock but it will be good."

'It should be illegal' she decides one set of fingers exploring between her lips, hips bucking when she finds the little nub he told her to. 'Ian's voice is a in' Her other fingers are pulling and twisting her nipples, eyes closed even in the darkness, small moans filtering into the room as she caresses the nub again and again.

'God I wonder what she looks like. Does she shave, or just trim…' Eames' thoughts are less and less coherent as his hand slides up and down his length in a furious pace, eyes trained on the writhing shadow. He could go over - give an advanced lesson - be he won't.

"Feel good, love?" The question is breathless, hoarse and deep. It makes Ariadne shiver, her fingers moving up and down then curiously in circles, finding what feels best. Her answer is little more than a broken moan - the sound makes Eames swear.

Belatedly when Ariadne is whimpering, thrashing and then yelling as she has her first self induced orgasm, Eames remembers he's got to sleep in that bed. Knowing her scent will cling to the comforter, the scent of sex hang in the air when he finally wants to sleep sends him over - his free hand coming to circle the base of his cock mercilessly as he bucks and groans before both fall quiet. A pregnant silence hangs between them before Eames stands and shuffles to the bathroom. The light flicks on and Ariadne is to drained to care.

The thief however does, and catches a glimpse of milk white curves, cherry lips and pink pebbled nipples. He can't help but smirk and wonder what the hell that bloke was thinking - it didn't really matter in the long run. Ariadne was in his bed tonight.


	3. A Call From The Professor

Professor Eames 3/?

"A Call From the Professor"

Author Note:

zeurin: Thanks for the review! I'm so happy you're enjoying this! Also enjoy the update~

* * *

Ariadne had lounged on the comforter of Eames bed in a state of boneless lethargy until the forger returned from the washroom. With a turn of her head brown orbs met blue and the pair shared a smile. Awkwardly, the architect dressed and both bid the other good night. Kisses exchanged at the door and then Ariadne was gone, only the lingering scent of her skin to keep the forger company.

That had been two weeks ago. An old contact called with a job the next morning and Eames had gladly taken it. He'd called Ariadne on the plane, smirked when she'd told him it wasn't fair to kiss and run.

Sitting in a drab hotel room in Ramstien, sipping a beer, Eames briefly wonders what his little pupil is doing back stateside. He's never had a head for maths, and can't for the life of him figure out if it would be appropriate to call. So instead he's sent about five postcards, all with various naughty instructions for while he was away.

The latest thing had been a lace lingerie set, the card read "part of looking sexy is feeling sexy. Even if no one see's this (and no one had better before me) you know you've got pretty knickers on. Feeling pretty, feeling sexy translates to how you carry yourself. So love, have fun. Think of me when you're wearing them, yeah?"

"If she likes them I'll get her more," his murmur filled the empty room.

"Ariadne, your dancing has been suffering lately." Instructor Gillespie chides, hands settling on her hips as she stands before the architect. The brunette blushed, and fiddled with the bottom of her shirt, leaning slightly to one side.

"Does this lack of enthusiasm have anything to do with that dashing British man who was watching you the other night…would it?"

"I.. He… I mean."

The taller dark woman smiled knowingly, shaking her head.

"Away on business then? I understand what its like to be away from someone you care about. Just, try to focus next class o.k.?"

"Yes Ma'am."

'Christ. He's been gone two weeks, and won't be back for at least two more…Maybe I should call? We could do a lesson over the phone…'

* * *

"And who's that little dish, Eames?" The comment makes the forger come to a complete standstill, hands on the safe, head slowly turning. There stands the little minx, the sapphire lingerie on under some flimsy excuse for a house coat. Eames feels his mouth go dry and he snaps back to the safe.

The safe takes two tries to open and by the time he's got his hands on the information and thrusting it at the extractor Ariadne is a foot from him. She's got that look like back at the dance studio.

'This is bad.' The mental comment just before the projection of his architect pounces on him. He vaguely hears his compatriots snicker and make a comment or two as the lithe little picture of Ariadne grinds in his lap. Eames is usually a smart man when it comes to separating work from pleasure - this is completely strange.

"Hey sweet thing mind giving us a go when you're done with that prat?" The point man leer's, his thick brogue making Eames' girl frown.

In a graceful movement she is up and out of Eames hold, a shiny black Walter ppk in her little hand. To say the con is surprised when she shoots the point man at point blank range is an understatement. Shock comes to mind when she levels the gun at his own head, her smile sweet, eyes dark.

"Go get me outside of the dream lover."

Eames will _not_ be getting a job with those blokes again, if the way they tossed his money at him, and telling him in no uncertain terms to fuck off is any indication. Driving like a maniac to his hotel, he's got one thought on his mind, poker chip traveling over his knuckles:

'I've got to call the bloody girl.'

* * *

It is four in the morning when Ariadne wakes once more to the pink panther ring tone. Fumbling around an alarm clock, various books and a tumbler full of water, the young woman finds her phone. Eyes still closed she flips it open and mumbles in a sleepy, heavy voice;

"Hello?"

"Hello, love."

"Eames? God what time is it?" A bleary eye opens and squints at a blurry, ominous red numbered alarm clock.

"Two in the afternoon, darling." Ariadne groans doing the mental math, a deep chuckle sounds over the cell.

"Miss me much?" She quips, propping herself up, settling in for a ten to twenty minute conversation.

"Let's just say you've been running through my thoughts and dreams." Ariadne's eyes widen at Ian's off the cuff candor, if what he said was true…

"There was a projection of me in the dream?"

"Mm. But that's neither here nor there, did you get my gift?"

"Yes, how did you know my size?"

"My mum worked as a seamstress for about fifteen years even after she met my dad. I've got an eye for these things."

"Well they're beautiful and so soft. I'll pay you back for them when you make it back to L.A."

"You'll do nothing like it, pet. I said gift for reason."

"Eames -"

"No, Ari. Besides that's not the reason I called."

"Could have fooled me" The woman laughs gently, leaning her head back against her pillows.

"Well if you don't want a lesson love…" Eames trails off purposefully, smiles when he hears Ariadne perk up on the other side of the line.

"I'll never turn down a lesson from you, Eames." The words are cliché and sound god awful to her hears, but the snort on the con man's side confirms it.

"Well then get comfortable darling, this is going to be a wild ride."

Ariadne takes a second, scooting her pillows this way and that, hunkering down onto their fluffy surfaces. Her blankets are pooled around her waist, the coolness of the room making her shiver, goose flesh forming along her arms and over her collar bone.

"Ready?'

"Yep." She sings, a giddy tone sneaking into her voice.

"What are you wearing, love?" His voice is lower, smoother somehow and it makes Ariadne gulp.

"Big old t-shirt and the panties you sent."

"That all? Christ, the picture is wonderful." A noise of confirmation bolts past her lips and she hopes to god she won't make a fool of herself over the course of this phone call.

"Do me a favor pet, shimmy those little blue knickers off. I bet the lace looks exquisite on your pale skin, but it needs to be off for the moment."

Ariadne smiles, arching and squirming to do this single-handedly, a soft giggle from her end of the line bringing a smile to Eames' face. She's nervous - he can tell, but on board with this at least.

"So," comes Ari's sweet mezzo-soprano over the phone, timid with a note of determination. "Miss me much, or were the underwear a hint to buy something more to your taste?"

"Haha love. I have missed you - and our lessons. The panties and bra are because yours seem so utilitarian - just something to keep from being indecent. These do that _while _being indecent." the immediate response and description of her choice in undergarments made the woman on the opposite side of the world make a quick mental note.

'Time to visit Vickie's Secret ..'

"Back to the point of the call however, sweetling. Did you do as I said?"

"Affirmative"

"Oh I love it when a woman goes military on me. Now your turn, have you missed me?"

Ariadne squeaks, like instead of in Europe Eames is right there, looming over her, face so close she can smell his aftershave and see the glint in his blue eyes. It seems that the noise is all the answer that Ian needs.

"Tell me how much."

"A lot" Was her gut response, pulse fluttering at the thought of telling him exactly how much.

"That's not what I wanted to here…" His tone is disappointed and the line falls silent. Ariadne takes a moment, a few deep breaths and speaks again.

"Not just a lot. I…I can't think straight now that you're gone. I keep thinking about your lips, they way you smell. Every time I go to sleep you're there doing obscene things to my mouth - my body…" the soft tones run out and it is now the forger's turn to take a few breaths.

"What do I do to you, love."

"You - you make me give you head. One it was in an elevator of the hotel. I can't remember what we had been doing before hand but the second we made it into that enclosure you had me on my knees. I - since. I mean since I don't know…I had to guess. In my dreams you always let me go slow until I've got the hang of it. Then you tell me to go faster, take you deeper. If I choke you give me a second and tell me to go back at it…" her voice is rushed, uncertain, insecure but heavy with desire - the sound of it plucks at Eames' nerves - his cock rising to her call.

"That will be our next lesson then love, right after the one where I teach you how to receive pleasure."

"R-receive?"

"Mm-hm. I'm going to touch you Ariadne. Would you like that, love?"

"Where?" The question is half a breath, half a moan, and the older man knows she is imagining it, her little hand probably resting in the valley of her breasts at this very moment.

"Everywhere. Your pert little breasts, that hungry, soaked little twat of yours, anywhere you want my hands, little one."

His only answer is a groan, and now he _has_ to palm his erection through his slacks. It eases the tension in a minuscule way.

"Where would you like me to touch you first, Ari?" Her pet name rolls from his tongue like water.

"My…breasts. I want your hands on my breasts, Ian." The way she's saying his name makes his cock twitch and strain against the fabric of his pants- he undoes them.

"Marvelous. Do you know what I'd do to those breasts?"

"Tell me."

"I'd cup them first, your breasts are perfect to cup in my hands - I can tell without doing it. I'd brush my thumb over your nipple, back and forth, like a whisper until you squirm. Do it Ari."

A needy sound makes it's way over the phone line and Eames groans. The call lasted until late in the afternoon for Eames and took Ariadne well into the daylight hours. Sighs and moans were traded, tentative descriptions of acts the architect wished execute on the forgers body pulled from her, his readily given.

The icing on the cake for Ian however, was the sweet keen Ari gave when she found bliss. It lapped at his ego and fried his nerves. He would have to call her again tomorrow - the next two weeks would be hell if he didn't.


	4. A Rage Interlude

Professor Eames 4/?

"A Rage Interlude"

**Author's Note: **Hey everyone! I'd just like to note that I am going on a trip in the next couple of days (with my laptop however) and may be a bit slow with updates. Also my husband (and very faithful beta) will be on an assignment so again - updates are going to be slow- unless someone would like to take over for the foreseeable future?

**Magical Pillow **- The Vicky's Secret is a nickname from when I was employed there lol. I am also overjoyed this doesn't venture into the realm of crude! I want to keep this as clean cut yet enticing as possible to so to hear that feedback is great. Thanks!

**snowspell **- I'm flattered that you think so highly of my writing skills! Thank you so much! I try to keep the emotions as true to life as possible - I always hate when things get too fantasy so I'm really glad you find this so real. Don't be afraid to reel me in if things get to feeling forced or just…out there. ; )

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Ma'am, I am telling you - not suggesting, telling- that I did not make any calls to Ramstien, Germany. My associate called me, and I took those calls, but I in no way dialed some random amalgamation of numbers and magically reached someone across the god damned globe."

Ariadne is a spitfire, plain a simple, Eames knew that from the moment he set eyes on the short brunette student. Watching her in action was kind of like watching a mismatched UFC fight - exhilarating even though you already knew the out come. The expletives that sweet mouth formed shocked him for all of five seconds before retreating to the nightly phone calls for two weeks in Germany.

'Oh yes…sweet, dirty, dirty mouth.' The forger's mind starts conjuring up memories from more adventurous (well, as adventurous as you can get with a phone and your own hand) conversations. Blue eyes dart to the pacing form in the corner of his apartment, hand shifting down stealthily to give his erection a healthy squeeze and adjustment as he listens to the building rage in the girl's voice.

"There is no fucking way I can be charged for TAKING a call, when my plan states all incoming calls are FREE, and while they were during my UNLIMITED night minutes!"

"_Eames, oh God, Eames…Tell me you're going to do that to me when you get back!" Ariadne's voice is a breathy sultry shadow of her usual tone, and his hand speeds up, the hitch, need and absolute desire in those words licking at the con man's every nerve._

"_You're a dirty girl, love. I'm going to pin you down on your, presumably, single bed, tie your hands and tease your poor little cunny until you scream. No gag, nothing to inhibit the world from hearing my name on your delicious lips as you writhe."_

"_I hate that you're in fucking Germany right now."_

_He chuckles, deep and rough voice reflecting his fraying calm._

"_Why is that, pet?"_

"_I'd do so many dirty things to you right now…"_

"_Tell me"_

_The architects fingers are buried in her slit, pumping as brutally as she can manage, her voice and the slick, erotic sounds of her attentions filling the sparse bedroom. Eames can hear it, presses the phone closer to his ear and waits for her answer. He isn't disappointed._

"_For one, I'd suck your cock. I don't care if I have abysmal technique, I desperately want to have your cock sliding past my lips and across my tongue. If there is anyone I trust enough to do that with its you and I'll be damned if I'm not imagining what your cum tastes like right now."_

_Plush pink lips turn at the corners in a victorious, pleased way when a low growl comes over the line. She's getting better at this phone sex thing - it feels best when two people are participating anyway._

"_What else you dirty little slut?"_

_The name sends a jolt through her, a line straight from her brain to throbbing core, a moan tearing itself from her mouth. Who knew she'd actually __**like**__ being called a slut?_

"_Depends on if you let me skip lessons" the coy reply was weak, but then again, Eames was slowly frying neurons in her brain - he couldn't very well expect much from her in this state._

"You are completely unhelpful, you know that? I want to talk to the supervisor who I know is five feet away from you. I can hear the bastard breathing!"

The enraged speech is all it takes to break Eames from his lovely daydream memory fiesta. A cursory glance at his partner in crime tells him all he needs to know about how the conversation is going. Ariadne has stopped pacing, her shoulders are locked, back straight as an arrow, increasing tension is visible via the deepening furrow between her well-groomed brows. If the call doesn't sort itself in the next five minutes, he may have to wrestle the cell from her - again.

For the sake of not just watching the time tick by, Eames putters off to the kitchen. It's nearing lunch and he'll be caught in women's evening wear outside the dream world before he'd let Ariadne go hungry after a bitch fest. He'd learned that one six months into their tentative triad work group with Arthur.

Inevitably, Ariadne had gone back to Paris - right after the Fischer job, slipping her number into the con and the point man's pockets without so much as a how do you do. It made him proud that he hadn't noticed until well after she was on her way to France.

The little spitfire had been at the University all of a week before things started to go down hill. Her grades were still perfect - she'd caught up with the few weeks of missed work, but reality wasn't what she wanted. It was enough - but it didn't drive her anymore.

Miles had mentioned it to Cobb on a call some weeks later, Cobb had called Arthur (who had just -unsurprisingly- fired the newest so called architect) and Arthur had booked passage to France. It was all very new age romance novel in the making. However there was one tiny flaw, Arthur liked control, Ariadne liked control - neither was passively dominant. The affair started and ended with a bang in the time it took to fly from Paris to L.A. and get to the office building they now inhabited.

It was after their rather spectacular end that Mr. Saito (he owned the office building - it was just neater), had walked into the main room, carrying his own delicatessen bag that Ariadne had exploded once more. She was a terrible fright when she wanted to be - even got Saito to part with his turkey, bacon, avocado, cucumber, with light mayo on focaccia masterpiece.

Her plate was made just as the call ended (thank the bloody lord) and she sat at the breakfast bar with a sweet, if slightly strained smile. Eames quickly joined her and they ate in amicable silence. The caesar salad, carefully crafted to be aesthetic as well as appetizing was rapidly eaten forkful by forkful while being carefully dipped in a saucer of Ranch dressing. For Ian it was eaten at a more leisurely pace, and that god forsaken vile excuse for dressing came no where near his salad - instead topped with the delicious homeland favorite - Heinz Salad Cream.

"Sorry I turned your apartment into a first class war zone."

"Think nothing of it"

"You're the best Ian."

"Keep that in mind when I inevitably embarrass you today."

The remark had Ariadne pause with her fork halfway to her mouth, in puzzlement. They had a lesson planned, but she wasn't aware it would be taking them out of the apartment. Adventure seemed to be the name of the game today. It would be an experience at the very least.


	5. The things you can do in a small spaces

Professor Eames 5/?

The things you can do in a small space are amazing.

AN: I am so sorry this took so long to get up everyone! Life took me for a spin, but here I am back again! Enjoy the latest installment!

* * *

Several hours later finds the pair outside, walking past streets of shops, speaking casually, close together but not touching. Ariadne is nervous again, not sure what to do, her hands fiddling with her fall scarf or stuffing themselves into her jacket pockets. The sight makes Ian smile, chuckling internally before reaching out and dragging Ariadne to be nestled against his side as they walked.

To him it seemed this would be a lesson in comfort with your partner, among other things. For a while, Ariadne is silent and stiff against him, clearly uncomfortable and unsure; however, the farther they walked like that the more she relaxed until finally some twenty minutes later, the con artist felt her arms wind about his waist.

"Better?" He asks, head ducking toward the Parisian woman's hair.

"Much." Came her response, eyes smiling as her cheeks warmed, looking up at her friend, co-worker, teacher, and lover? The fact they didn't fit into a box concerned her only mildly – lines were blurring due to lessons, it was to be expected after all.

"What do you think of getting into some of these shops, trying on some sexy new under things?"

Ariadne quirked a brow before retorting; "Are mine not good enough now?"

"Told you before ducks – utilitarian, you need lace on that pretty body, satin to make you moan, silk to make you squirm. Hell even leather would suit you…"

"All right, all right! I get it Ian!" she gasped out, a dark blush dusting over her cheeks and nose.

Steering the blushing bundle of woman into a boutique called the Wanton Woman, Eames took in the décor. Classier than the name alluded to, there were garments of all shapes, sizes and fabric littering wracks and wall displays. This was most assuredly where Ariadne needed to shop for a while.

Soft music played in the background, and the bell has ceased its chime of announcement by the time Eames spied a middle aged woman emerging from the backroom. Shuffling Ariadne forward, he smiled at her nerves showing in the form of an even darker blush.

"Welcome to the Wanton Woman! What brings you into our humble boutique today?" The older woman – Isabelle, her name plate proclaimed, had a welcoming nature about her, the architect noticed. There was nothing raunchy or haughty about the associate before her, with red lips, crisp grey pants and plum shirt, Isabelle was the picture of professional.

"I…Well, my, uh…That is…" Ariadne stumbled when trying to explain who Eames was to her, ducking her head, hands wringing together nervously.

"Looking for some pretty under things for you and your beau to enjoy, yeah?" Isabelle interrupted, a kind, patient smile on her face.

"Yes, exactly that." The young woman breathed out, smile lighting her face.

Eames, for his part, stays quiet, letting sales woman and his girl chat a bit, while his eyes skirted around the store. The array of different merchandise thrilled him, his eye catching on a sweet sapphire chiffon teddy, and then a risqué set of crotch-less panties with matching shelf bra in black satin. Imagining Ariadne laid across a bed, with either on, the bright blue highlighting her hair while the black would make her mysterious , brings a wicked smile to his lips; one that both women see.

"So, what exactly is it you two are looking for? Just some frilly pretties, or perhaps something a bit wilder?"

"A few things on the wild side, but our main priority is to replace my darling's utilitarian bits with something that makes her feel beautiful." Eames responds before the lithe architect has a chance to open her mouth, the act garnering a knowing smile from Isabelle.

"Well, I can certainly help with that. Come along then Miss and I'll get you into a fitting room. Your gentleman can sit outside, in case you want to model anything for him. What colors do you like best?" Isabelle spoke quickly as she moved Ariadne into the back of the boutique, the forger ambling along behind the two, eyes still picking out little things here and there that he catalogued as gifts for later in their lessons.

"Blue, I like storm grey too, some pink isn't too bad, red is rather pretty…Mostly I wear white though."

"Storm grey? That wouldn't happen to be the color of your beau's eyes would it?"

The only answer from the little architect is a blush, followed by Isabelle's good natured laugh and Eames acts as if he missed the entire exchange. Once the door to the room is closed, and the forger is seated, the associate becomes a veritable butterfly, flitting around the store, snatching up this night gown, that bra and panty set, a pair of hose and garters, something that looks to be very fragile and numerous other bits to bring to Ariadne in multiple colors.

Coming back the older woman sets the items on the rack in the dressing room and flits off again. Eames pays her little attention as he listens to clothing being shed, seeing pants, coat shirt and bra fall to the ground. His eye brows shoot up to his hair line when white panties grace the floor, only to be replaced by a pair of nude, sheer knickers that he can only assume are to act as skin so new panties can be tried on without fear of diseases being communicated. Minutes later the door clicks open and Ariadne sticks her head out, brown eyes lighting with nervous energy. Slowly the rest of her emerges until one hand is gripping the door handle, the other resting slightly above her head on the door frame.

Smiling reassuringly, Ian lets his eyes wander and feels his mouth go dry. Pale spring yellow cups with delicate embroidery press the Parisian woman's breasts up, fluttering down around her torso in a tantalizing sheer waterfall, ending just as it kisses her thighs. Underneath the yellow shift the forger spied a matching pair of panties.

"Good?"

"Very." He rumbles, leering at Ariadne before she ducks back in the dressing room, cheeks bright red.

"This goes in the 'yes' pile." Comes a muffled remake through door, brining a smile to Eames as Isabelle made another appearance, arms filled with more – adventurous – ensembles.

"I've got some other bits and bobs for you to try Miss." She calls through the door, handing clothing inside when the door creaks open. As soon as Ariadne thanks her, Isabelle is gone with a farewell comment for Eames or the Architect to call her if they need anything.

Leaning back in his chair, Eames waits for Ariadne to come out in the next set, approving each one, grimacing only when the lithe girl came out in a hot pink cheetah set. The look of relief that graced Ariadne's features told the British man that she hadn't liked the set either. For half an hour the parade of fairly innocent bra sets, night gowns continued until a pregnant pause prompted Eames to knock on the dressing room door.

"Having trouble in there, darling?"

A muffled, frustrated sound was the man's answer before the door opened and a small hand pulled him inside. The door shut behind Ian and his eyes landed on Ariadne, half cinched into a black satin overbust corset, cheeks flaming with frustration and eyes flashing.

"I can't get the top half."

Nodding dumbly, Eames motioned for her to turn and went about pulling strings to close the article of clothing correctly, the whole time reciting the national anthem to keep from doing something inappropriate. A few minutes later, brown eyes met grey in the mirror, taking in the young woman's rather dramatic look; the thief's hands still on her waist.

"Ian…" the murmur broke Eames' revere, hands tightening and turning her. He felt almost crazed as they crashed together in a wild, heated kiss. Lifting the small woman, he barely felt when her hands pulled his jacket from his shoulders, or when her legs wound around his waist, thought fled when their tongues clashed and the temperature suddenly shot up in the small cubicle.

The brunette was just as relentless as her partner in the kiss, mapping his mouth, battling with him for dominance over the kiss, weaving her fingers into short equally brown hair. The outside world faded into the background for a long moment as they frantically kissed. Eames however, regained some thought, pulled from the kiss a moment and whispered darkly into his partner's ear.

"How about a lesson, darling, since we're here?"

"What? We're in a dressing room Ian – "

"So I noticed. Relax, keep quiet and no one will know. Call it a lesson in spontaneity."

For a moment, Ariadne was silent and the con man wondered if she would back out of their arrangement all together. Patiently he waited for her answer, and was rewarded with a short nod.

Setting the Parisian woman down, he kissed along her neck and shoulder, leaving no bit of exposed skin untouched. Ariadne was frightened, and tense for a good bit, before a bite took her eyes and mind from the dressing room door and to the man in front of her.

He felt good, a warm, dangerous presence in front of her, kissing and biting at her neck, palms smoothing up her waist to press and grasp at her breasts through the material of the corset. She relaxed some, let her hands trace his arms through the white button down he'd chosen before they'd left, gasping when his mouth met the top of a breast.

The thief, reveled in the small sounds the woman in his grasp uttered, his hands leaving their place to remove the pesky barrier and potential buy panties from her body. The action made the little architect lean against the mirror, her hips jutting out to knock against his, rubbing against his erection and making him groan against her skin. With her panties around her feet, Ian had free reign on the skin of her legs and all that lay in between. So he petted at her thighs, the aim to get Ariadne used to his touch, their lips clashing again as one hand smoothed over her stomach.

As Eames grew bolder with his touches, Ariadne's mind whirled. They were in public, making out like there was no tomorrow, and she was bare from the waist down – it was frightening and exciting all at the same time. What if they got caught? The idea made her moan and buck against her con man insistently – her reward was a gentle touch to her outer lips.

'So bloody responsive' mused Eames, as he slipped a finger against her lips, teasing as his other hand encouraged her legs to splay out wider for him. The way her body moved against him, was maddening, the sounds she made bringing his cock to full awareness. Curling his finger, Ian brushed over her clit teasingly, enjoying swallowing her moans and gasps before pulling away from her lips to watch her face.

The sight that greeted him made the man groan. Leaning against the mirror, her brown locks laying around her face in a disheveled mess, eyes half closed, lips bright red and parted Ariadne was a vision of lust. Add to it the fact she was securely trussed into a corset, her creamy skin hidden and yet open to his eyes – the brit was lost to the small woman.

Pulling away completely, Eames dropped to his knees, watching as the lithe woman's hands slithered away from his neck to slide over her body, pressing against her skin through the material that bound her. One of the forger's hands came to rest on her buttocks kneading and supporting as the other parted her nether lips, drawing a soft mewling gasp from his lover's lips. Tearing his eyes from her rapidly flushing face, he found her to be beautiful, leaning forward to kiss at her bud, tongue sneaking out to lap over her opening, skirt over her inner lips and make her buck, crying out softly.

"Delicious…" Eames whispered into her core, as his assault truly started, licking, kissing, nibbling and sucking over her charm, tongue thrusting into Ariadne's molten depths. The architect, arched, moaned, gasped and clutched at Ian's short hair while crying out around her fist that she'd stuffed into her mouth to try and muffled her noises. It only served to make the conman work harder, drive her higher until she yelled his name.

Seeing blood suffuse her skin to a dark blush as she came, watching the way her back arched and feeling her nails drag across his scalp brought a surge of pride to Eames. His lover was sated, and she'd not once thought of other customers coming in, the associate or _anything_ but this act. The lesson in taking pleasure for herself was officially a success.

Some twenty minutes later, hands full of bags, Ian and Ariadne left Wanton Woman – Ariadne tucked securely to his side, and went about the rest of their less eventful shopping.


	6. Of confrontations & knights in tin armor

Professor Eames 6/?

Of confrontations, knights in tin armor, and jobs that go exactly as planned for once.

AN: So this was planned differently but came out like this. Sometimes character voices just take a mind of their own and I simply have to bend to them. Enjoy and review! 3

* * *

Ariadne hummed quietly to the empty room as the vacuum whirls softly, cleaning her small apartment. It's been the better part of three weeks since she got back from London, seeing Eames… And the shopping trip to Wanton Woman. That afternoon still creates a lightning bolt of warmth whenever she thinks about it, day dreams about it, relives it in the shower because Ian got another job and is gone to the States for a week again…

_'Jesus. What am I doing…'_

_Tonight we're going hard  
Just like the world is ours  
We're tearin' it apart  
You know we're superstars  
We are who we are!  
We're dancing like we're dumb  
Our bodies go numb  
We'll be forever young  
You know we're superstars  
We are who we are_!

When the catchy chorus of the Architects newest ring tone filtered above her thoughts and even the roar of the vacuum, the young woman found herself flying across the small flat to grab at the cell. A picture of Eames flashed across her screen, bringing a grin to her lips as she hastily jabbed at the touch screen's accept button.

"Hey Babe!" She chirped, anticipating a scandalized reaction from her partner in crime (literally).

"Darling and you got to the phone before the second reprise – impressive."

"Don't be an ass, Eames. How's the job going?"

"Actually, that's why I'm calling…"

Ariadne scowled, she didn't work - well do **that** work – anymore, she was just an architect, regular boring….

"I don't build dreams anymore Ian."

"Not even for Cobb and Arthur?"

A squeal from the architect's end of the line could be heard through the compound, the point man and extractor looking up from their respective work to see the forger jerk his head from the cell a moment too late.

"I'll take that as a yes then, shall I?"

"Of course! I'll be on the next plane out…Where am I coming to?"

"Just fly to LAX again, Ari, I'll drop by and get you when you land."

"O.k. I'll talk to you later I've got to pack and get tickets."

Ariadne smiled when the deep chortle of her teacher/lover filtered over the line.

"You do that. And, Ari?"

"Yes?"

"Apportez le gris ensemble, et que chemise de nuit saphir, de l'amour*"

"If you insist, Ian."

"You know I do."

Ending the call, Ariadne turned into a full-blown whirl wind. Booting her laptop while quickly cataloging what had to be done before she left, the girl couldn't wipe the silly grin plastered across her face.

_'I get to see Cobb and Arthur! I get to __**create.**__ Eames will be there!'_

-.-.-.-.-

"I take it we've got an architect then." Arthur inquired coolly, glancing up at the conman, wondering silently at the wide smile on the mostly reserved man's face.

"Ariadne's flying out, she'll be texting when the fly is set." Comes the careless, chipper reply.

Raising a brow, Arthur couldn't pass up a shot at his sometime partner. "Good friend are you? I never thought Ariadne's tastes ran so…base."

"Oh shut up you great bloody pillock. You're just pissed she doesn't get all squeal-y when you call her."

"And how would you know that?"

"Got my ways, mate. Got my ways."

Cobb groans loudly, effectively catching the attention of the two young men – '_boys, actually'_. Tossing his folder onto the make shift desk he stood, striding over to the bickering partners and landed as steely gaze on Eames.

"She's only done one job – an inception, only created places designed to bend a mind to our will. What exactly makes you think that she can pull off an extraction?"

"You've got to be kidding Dom. The woman created scenes so life like that even when Fischer knew it was a dream it effected the way that job went. A half assed architect would have screwed the whole thing, not to mention not been able to get to limbo and back willingly. Ari's got the stones for it, and the talent to boot."

"She dealt with a very specific situation. This job is nowhere near that scale, not nearly needing as much detail or back up information, Eames –"

Arthur chose this moment to cut in. "Why don't you want her on this job, Cobb?"

Growling, Cobb tore his gaze from one man and pinned the other under it.

"Because they're fucking involved – together, seeing each other! We do not need another Mal incident!"

Both con and point men sat stock still in shock from the extractor's heated declaration. Incredulous brown eyes swept to face the ashen, con man, one look confirming what Cobb had said. Suddenly a whole new wave of irritation ran its course in Arthur, who in moments was on his feet, leaning over Eames dangerously.

"You and Ariadne… She's too good for you! You'll only hurt her – corrupt her!"

"Bloody fucking hell Arthur. Would you be good enough? She's already corrupted, as you put it. **She** came to **me. ** Nothing about me and her is going to affect how this job works, you paranoid prats!"

"You will ruin her Eames. She's barely out of school – barely into her twenties and fooling around with _you_? This is going to end badly."

"Stuff it you great arse. That girl means more to me than either of you realize. The job is just that – a job. We'll get in, get it done and go the fuck home. But I swear to both of you now, if you treat that woman any differently because she's with me, I will end you. Ariadne is a talented architect, a capable woman, my friend and my lover – she's a part of this team as well. You may see her like a daughter, Cobb, or a potential love interest Arthur but, she is neither. Accept it." The forger spat the words in fury, not caring to correct the misconception that he and Ariadne were a couple, blind to the approving looks of his colleagues.

_fragile these teeth are razor sharp  
been through been through the vortex  
dissolve and disintegrate  
icicle the river is deep  
underneath is all you see  
draws you in from near or far_

The slow strains of razor sharp fill the room, no one moving for a moment after Eames' tirade before he snatches the phone from his sport coat pocket. Sparing not a glance at the ID flashing – only Ariadne had this tone – he accepted the call.

"Ariadne" The man bit out gruffly, trying to hide the anger from his voice.

"Did I call at a bad time?"

"No, not at all; did you book the flight?"

"I'll be there tomorrow at 8."

"You shouldn't take a red eye, Ariadne…"

One the other end of the line, the slim woman paused folding a dress, her friend's tone stirring something within her.

"Eames, I'm a big girl – one flight isn't going to kill me."

Hearing a sigh, and some ruffling of fabric, the architect knew Eames was undoing his tie and leaning back in his chair.

"Just be careful Ari, there are some creeps out there."

"Like you?" She quipped, straining to lighten the sudden somber tone of the call.

"Worse."

"Eames, what is wrong." The woman demanded, tossing the half folded shirt into her case and sitting down on her freshly made twin bed.

"Nothing, we'll talk when you get here. Be safe."

"You too, Ian."

When the line clicked dead, Ariadne pulled the phone from her ear, staring at it as if willing him to call back and explain his mood change. It had been less than a half hour since she called last, what had happened? Did he not want her to be on the job now? Had something happened with Dom and Arthur?

_'Damn right we're talking when I get there, Mister…'_

Eighteen hours later, a tired, disheveled architect stands in front of the baggage carousel, brown eyes watching each piece of luggage to swing around, looking for her brown satchel case. The exhausted brunette doesn't even notice when her broad shouldered lover sneaks up behind her.

'She looks adorable' Ian decides as he approaches the thin woman, smirking when she starts as his arm snakes around her middle. Tilting her head up, a smile springs to her face, seeing who it is, leaning back against him.

Together they simply stand like that, waiting for Ariadne's bag quietly. As a tired gesture is given by the little architect to a brown satchel case, bulging at the seams, the forger chuckles moving around her to grab it; slinging the case over his shoulder before replacing his arm around her waist. Ushering her out, and into a nondescript blue civic, they start driving. Ariadne has no idea where the shop is set up, already half asleep by the time they pull up to an apartment building just outside the city.

Ariadne woke up once on the stairs, eyes blearily questioning Eames, as he carried her into a small one bedroom on the fourth floor. After that she was curled in amongst his blankets, murmuring about a need to talk.

"Of course Ari, we'll talk after you sleep…"

* * *

Review response!

Thank you all who welcomed me back! Life can be crazy but my muse is back!

memoriaregalis -Ari may at the very end, teach Eames a thing or two, I'm not sure yet though.

Voldemort's Spawn – Eames on his knees in the dressing room would make any kind of shopping better! I completely agree with you there 3

itakethewords – I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and caught you while re-reading it with the update!


	7. Fathers with bad timing

Professor Eames 7/?

Fathers with bad timing and men who kiss in dreams

* * *

"Ian, you said we'd talk." Ariadne was surprised at herself, nearly twenty hours of sleep and the first thing she does is badger Eames awake to see what the hell is going on.

_'Smart – wake up your host with a demand of information Ari…Good going'_

"Mph- Darling? Wha' time is?" The half asleep man flails on the couch, looking for an alarm clock that isn't near.

"It's 5:30."

"Bloody 'ell"

"Eames."

"Go back ta sleep, wom'n!"

"Fine I'm calling Arthur."

"Y' do that, love. Jus be quiet 'bout it."

Shaking her head at the slurred speech and sleepy flailing of her colleague, the brunette traipses back into the bedroom and fishes her cell phone out of her purse, deftly dialing a certain point man's number. One ring, two, three, four … By seven Ari has flat out decided Arthur needs a ring back tone, and to not sleep so damn heavily when he does get sleep.

"Ariadne, its nearly 6…Why aren't you asleep?"

"Hello to you, too, Arthur."

"Did you get in all right?"

"Yes. What upset Ian yesterday?"

"Who?"

"_Eames_, Arthur, what upset _Eames_" The young woman sighed, exasperated with men and their inability to wake up with brain function.

"Cobb and I are…Less than pleased with the turn your friendship has apparently taken. We made our concerns known." Arthur is quiet, his voice is too cool, and he prays Ariadne doesn't notice. They've all seen the spitfire when upset and no one was ever keen to see it again.

"What?" For the moment Ariadne is still processing – did Ian tell them about the lessons, their arrangement, the fears she had about her own sexual prowess or lack thereof?

"You shouldn't date a man like Eames."

'_Apparently he hasn't…'_

"Arthur, I'm a grown woman, Eames and I have worked together, he's perfectly trust worthy and honest in his intentions. " This was bizarre to the young Parisian, a calm fight over the merits of a man she considered a friend, with another man that was her friend.

"I thought you had better taste than a scruffy, hardly put together thief."

"My tastes have noth-"The realization of what bugged Arthur about she and Eames came hurling to the front of her mind. Inception – a kiss in a made up lobby, in the mind of a man too consumed with work to truly act on it.

"Arthur, one kiss doesn't stake a claim, it doesn't build a relationship, it doesn't even mean anything unless something happens in the real world."

She hung up after that, knowing the road would be bumpier if they talked more about it. In the recesses of her mind, the architect knew work would be fine, professional, wrapped in a box that would easily be put away after it was done. Arthur on the other hand, outside of the job could not, and there for – was now to be avoided until the lessons ended.

Walking back out of the bedroom, Ariadne pauses by the lumpy looking green couch upon which Eames sleeps, blankets tangled around him, pulled up to his chin, hair askew. Checking her watch she contemplated giving him twenty more minutes – then threw all her weight behind the couch to tip him off it. The thud and string of interesting curse words that followed, sent her squealing and laughing from the room, into the bathroom, door slamming and promptly getting locked.

The forger was groggy, awake at an **insane** hour by his lover, and now felt the need for payback of any form. The click of the lock on the bathroom door made it a challenge, the metallic screech of the bath taps perked his interest, and the sound of the shower coming on just gave the man incentive. It took five minutes for a plan of action to formulate, two to get up, untangle the sheets from his legs and get over to the door. In another eight the lock was picked, the door was open and Eames had shed his boxers.

The marvel of this however, was that the architect was unaware, washing her hair, oblivious to the shadow outside the shower curtain. It made his plan all the more gratifying however when he slipped past the curtain into the warmth of his shower, a drenched, rosy colored Ariadne fully displayed before him. The serene quiet broke however, when Ariadne opened her eyes and let out a yelp of shock.

"Eames!"

Chuckling, the broad, well built man stepped forward, leaning to kiss Ari chastely.

"Good morning."

"I locked the door."

"And I'm a thief darling… Now there is something you could do for me, since you toppled me out of bed so bleedin' early."

"Oh?"

"Mm hmm, kneel down"

Ariadne laughed, doing as he asked, quieting when she came face to face with his length. Nerves settled in a jittery buzz in her stomach, and she lifted her eyes to Ian's.

"I don't know how…"

"I remember, for now love, take it in your hand, get a feel for just moving it up and down"

Gulping, Ariadne brought her hand up to Eames' length. She had no idea why she was so nervous about doing this – it wasn't her first time _seeing_ a penis, it certainly wasn't the first time she'd handled one.

_'It's because this is Eames, we're in his shower, and I'm about to learn how to suck him off. Oh god'_

Curling her hand around his girth with a quick squeeze, the drenched brunette brought her hand up the length of him. The softness of his skin and steely nature of his erection were dichotomies, something that had always fascinated Ariadne since the first time she'd touched one. Curiously she moved her hand, varying the tightness of her grip, the quickness of movement until Eames gave a noise of approval.

Those noises, soft grunts, a groan here or there, directed her, made this learning experience slightly easier. Focused now, the young woman scooted forward, her free hand moving to rest on the conman's thigh, her eyes and attention riveted on each of Ian's reactions. The now settled rhythm continued, faltering only for a moment when he thrust his hips at her – nearly poking her in the cheek.

"Give it a kiss.." The words are heavy on Eames' tongue, voice gruff – it sends a shock of pleasure through the woman on her knees.

When her lips connect, it breaks a damn somewhere within Ariadne, and she does it again, and again. Up and down Eames' cock she gives little kisses, leaving no space untouched, returning to the head and giving it an experimental lick. Eames swears and puts a hand against the wall.

"Again."

Somehow this is much easier, much more pleasurable than the architect thought it would be. Licks and kisses are simple, putting it in her mouth is heavenly – swirling her tongue around the head makes Eames bellow. The lesson is out of his hands now however, and Ariadne has the reigns. She's careful about her teeth, having heard that comment from girlfriends in the past, bobs at him, not going past where she is comfortable. Her hands take care of the rest.

Internally, Ariadne is cataloging his scent – musky, dark, sandalwood and something woodsy. It is addicting and she is sure in the coming days they will be doing this again – he tastes good, like salt and skin, there is a bit of a bitter bite, but that must be from precum, she remembers the term from sex ed. Looking up at him as she moves, his features scrunched in concentration, leaning heavily against the wall to his right, the girl is struck by how well this man is built.

His abs are well defined, his arms aren't over done like some men tended toward, broad shoulders, a dusting of hair on his chest – god he was hot. Why did he hide it under messily thrown together slacks, button downs and sport coats?

"Ari –"

"Mph?"

"Gotta stop love, or –"

Ariadne squeezed him in response, her rhythm not slowing, tongue dancing along his shaft, tracing this veins or the contour of his head. At the end, his hand buried in her hair, pulling a bit and she found it was more than pleasant, though she wasn't sure about swallowing.

"Spit if you need to love, it's not everyone's cup of tea."

A grateful smile and Ariadne is turning, spitting at the drain before being swept up into the British man's arms. Ian presses her back against the shower tiles, smirking when she wiggles, and gasps "it's cold" before shifting her weight to be cradled in one hand, his other free to roam.

Tongues and teeth clash, any semblance of patient washed away with the water, her hands skitter across his shoulders, looking for purchase, seizing when he tweaks a nipple none too gently; a moment later a calloused thumb smoothes over it soothingly. The gun calloused hands that have barely touched her before are suddenly everywhere, one cradles her bottom, brushes teasingly at her lips making her buck and squeeze her legs around his middle. The other busies itself with her breasts, the plain of her stomach and tangling in her hair.

The reality is better than her wild, fevered imaginings, too much and not nearly enough. It can't have been more than a few minutes and she is bucking almost savagely, keening, begging wordlessly for something she knows that he can give to her. Her lips are bruising from the force of their kisses, her back has warmed the tiles under it and his teeth are biting in that spot – _right there_- on Ariadne's neck. The architect feels as if she's a wild thing, here in his arms, It's never been like this. The heat is scorching a path from nipples to clit and she _needs_ –** aches**.

"_Ian_!" The one word, his name, pitched like a desperate plea, but it could be a command a prayer – one look at the small woman in his arms tells the forger that she's got no idea. He lets his fingers dip against her skin, watches the pale skin yield, the small frame is shivering, heaving with breath, want, need – lust so palpable that he is hard again.

Shifting the trembling woman from one arm to the other, he moves his fingers to touch her lips, soft feather touches, barely there. If the way she grabs at his hair and pulls him close to kiss him breathless is any indication – she likes it. Encouraged, Eames presses in slightly, teasing at her opening, making her buck and writhe, drinking in the picture she makes, answering her growls and moans with some of his own. Left to his own devices, the con man will tease her mercilessly until she screams and threatens him, but Ariadne has no intention of being toyed with. She arches and moves until her lips connect with his neck and bites, soothing it afterward with kisses and licks that drive him to press her to the wall again with his chest crushed against hers – it is wonderful.

"Don't play with a fire you can't put out darling…" It's drawled in her ear, so sinfully rugged and filled with promise that she whimpers, hands moving of their own accord to find his and make him touch her where she needs it.

"If you'd just touch me" She moans grinding her hips onto the invading digits, smirk playing on her lips when Eames looks at her shocked and pleased; "I wouldn't be so bad."

"Naughty girl are we?"

"Ohh yes..very"

Eames laughs deep in his throat, face pressing against her shoulder and drenched hair.

"And what does this naughty girl want?"

"Damn it Ian. " Ariadne growls, her hand wrapped around his wrist, trying in vain to get him to do something, hips frantic in their search for friction – yet helplessly pinned by the finger's owner.

"Say it for me darling." The conman coaxes, curling his fingers inside her, making stars shoot behind her lids.

"_Touch me."_

From there, she doesn't know whose moving more – her or him. Ian is everywhere, inside her around her, over and under her – she can't think anymore. Being fingered shouldn't feel this could – shouldn't have her crying out, begging, acting as if she is burning to death and Eames – master liar, conman, forger of the human form – is the only water to put out the fire. It no longer matters if she looks like a fool or sounds like a slut, and to be honest it hasn't for a while – because there is something curling tight in the pit of her stomach.

It's dark and dangerous, seductive and frightening. Ariadne can't catch her breath, isn't sure what noises are being emitted from her throat, and damn this man if he isn't whispering in her ear, evidence of his want bumping against her. In the distance there is a bang – but it doesn't matter – there are lights dancing across her vision, lightening electrifying her skin and the entire architect can see or hear is Eames' voice, encouraging, goading her to feel _more_, to let him see everything she has to give.

The screech and the vice like grip on his fingers is indescribable. Ariadne is well named; there is nothing now that could convince him otherwise. Like her Greek namesake, the little brunette, panting and bucking in his arms is amazing, her blush, dark lidded eyes and reddened lips all things - were he the god Dionysus – would want in a bride.

The lovers however, aren't given any time to collect themselves before a thunderous bang sounds on the bathroom door, and a rather distinctive voice is heard.

"Get your asses out here- **now**"

It's Cobb, in full father mode it would seem – and all Ariadne can do is cling to Ian and laugh hysterically.

"We're in trooouble!"


	8. Don't ever say never, Darling

Professor Eames

Don't ever say never, Darling.

* * *

Tumbling out of the lavatory, wrapped in soaked towels laughing and sharing secret looks wasn't the best way to handle Cobb's intrusion on the duo's shower. If anything the man looked just as irritated as he sounded – a true feat of epic ability in Ariadne's bliss ladened mind.

"You two were due at the office two hours ago." The words are cold, like ice, and sharper than even a particularly irate mother's could be.

"So you decided to come fetch us then, did you Cobb?" Though Ian was pressed comfortably against the lithe Parisian-American's back; the anger that laced his sentence vibrated though his chest and made her frown.

"You, _Eames_, know where I stand on...on...**this**." Cobb gestures wildly at them, reminding Ariadne of the fact her boss was in fact a father, and considered her, the girl who had saved his mind from oblivion, one of his brood.

"Dom..."

"Don't speak Ariadne. I'll be talking to you later." The sandy haired blonde didn't even spare the young woman a glance; simply barking the order, blue eyes trained on the man stationed behind her. Rage welled up in the architect's chest, curling angrily as the _self-righteous_ argued over her head. Made the "grown up" decisions.

"You broke into my flat, you great bloody -"

"Of course I did! And from the sounds of things, not a moment too soon!"

"The fuck is that supposed to mean, eh Cobb?"

"You – and _her_, god you were practically fucking -"

"Shut. Up." Ariadne's words rang though both of her colleagues, stilling their tongues and bringing their attention back to her.

Looking, up with fury filled brown eyes, stand at her full height of five foot five, the young woman stepped away from the warm plastered against her back. Small hands came from their white knuckle grip on her own and landed squarely in Dom's chest, pushing with a surprising force – he stumbled a step back.

"You, Cobb, are **not** my father. Friend – Yes, employer – yes again, parental figure – big fat no."

"Aria-"

"Shut. Up. Cobb." The words were bitten off with unconcealed feeling, and the older man heeded the advice this time.

"Breaking and entering is a crime. Not trusting a friend and colleague should be a _sin _in our line of work, and yet – here you are."

Cobb flinched, blue eyes closing a moment as he let Ariadne's words settle in, tried to let the venom in her voice roll off his broad shoulders. Sighing, not wanting to admit defeat – knowing if he didn't Aria would walk back to France if she had to,all the while telling him where to stick his architecture job – the architect-come-extractor gave a near imperceptible nod. The young woman standing before him saw it however, and knew her words had won the altercation.

Turning to her lover, small hands landed on the lightly fuzzed chest and gave a push. When the British conman gave the lithe brunette a look of confusion, she mouthed: "go get dressed", summarily sending Ian from the room. Returning to face Cobb, sharp brown eyes softened at the look of pure distress pained across the man who employed her's features.

"We'll see you at the office Cobb." The words were much softer than the small army that had been spoken previously, even so Dom's eyes flew up as if he'd been slapped. Guilt flaired up in the small young woman's chest and as he opened the door, one of her ink stained hands caught his arm.

"You may not be my father, Dom, but if I needed one – I'd want someone like you to take that place in my life."

A lump formed in the blonde extractor's throat and he gruffly mumbled something about seeing the pair at the warehouse. In moment's the door was closed, apartment fallen into a heavy silence and Ariadne was left standing in a small puddle, wrapped securely in a white towel.

"He shouldn't have come over...A call would have sufficed."

"Ian...Dom just worries."

"Doesn't give him the right to barge in here like I'm bloody well raping you! For starters it's not even two in the morning*."

A snort filled the room as the architect caught the con's joke, dark eyes shooting a look over her shoulder as she turned and padded into Eames' bedroom. Plucking her small black suitcase from the floor, letting her towel drop onto the ground, Ariadne gave a parting bit of wisdom to her friend come colleague come lover.

"I know it doesn't. But he's a dad and I'm a daughter. There's dad radar for premarital sex you know."

Not giving Eames a chance to respond as he ogled her creamy curves, the architect shut the bedroom door and started to get dressed for the day.

* * *

AN: Sorry this took so long everyong and that it is so short! Real life stuff is pounding away at me (get this signed, that signed, find a place to store your car, oh wait no we'll ship it...it goes on and on) so this was a long time coming.

*The joke I popped in here at the end, is in reference to my favorite SARC briefing ever. I'll explain it in detail at a later date – I am _sure_ there will be ample opportunity to it in here once or twice more.


	9. Chapter 9

Leaving for AO3

I just wanted to put up a quick note altering you all to my move from here to Archive of Our Own. These stories will stay up but no longer be updated here.

Same penname, same chick, same stories. :D

archiveofourown users / MrsShadow

Also if AO3 is giving you grief about reading the stories without an account I'm going to do a giant post dump of stories into my livejournal over the next couple days (I've got work so it will be a couple days, people!)

washedawaycloud . livejournal . com

Things will be tagged accordingly.

I love you all and am sorry to be going but it's for my stories safety - especially the older ones. seems to be cracking down - one of my older ones (thankfully in the live journal already) was taken down after two years for inappropriate content.


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